


Working As Intended

by simaetha



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Second Age realpolitik, implicit dubcon?, this is not the good ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4304001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simaetha/pseuds/simaetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annatar returns to Eregion, some ten years after Celebrimbor creates the Three.</p><p>
  <em>"A century isn't so very long - not for you, and probably still less so for Annatar, who admits that he has a hard time working out how old he actually is in any sort of way you can translate into sensible understanding. But - well, you did miss him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You're really very glad to have him back."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working As Intended

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [如你所思](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4381349) by [shadowoftheday654321](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowoftheday654321/pseuds/shadowoftheday654321)



You lean your hip against the workbench, and grin at Annatar. The morning light pours in through the open windows, gleaming on metal and wood and polished stone; the air is fresh and cool, the forge in the corner still heating up, in readiness for the day's work.

On your hand, you can feel Vilya's presence, a sense of _power_ and _perception_ that you still haven't quite become used to. The Ring of Air sings quietly to itself about storm and sky and the vast, interconnected movements of the heavens; it lets you - _reach out_ , to the world around you, and _change_ it in a way that you never could, before.

You - wonder if this is what Annatar feels like _all the time_.

You can't _wait_ to show him what you can do with it.

"So," you say, "when you flounced out on me for a century, did you happen to pick up anything new at all? You might have noticed I've been working on a _few_ things, here."

"I didn't _flounce_ \- " Annatar starts to say, and you grin at him again, watching him make a face at you and then, reluctantly, smile back.

"You _definitely_ flounced," you say. "That was _exactly_ what a flounce looks like. I hope you _have_ been working on something new, by the way. I can't even remember what we were fighting about at this point; if you tell me you've spent the last hundred years or so sulking over something that trivial and haven't even managed to get _anything_ done, I'm going to be disappointed."

"I'm not sure I'd have come _back_ if I'd remembered how impossible you are," Annatar says, but he's smiling at you again, now. "I might have managed - as you put it - a _few_ things myself. But alright, why don't you go first - I can admit it, I _am_ very interested in what those new Rings you've come up with can do."

"They're not _just_ tools," you point out, "even if you can use them that way. We should talk about the design sometime, actually. But I thought we'd start with heat-formation of adamant from coal."

"You can't manage that with just a forge," Annatar starts to say automatically, and then pauses, a look of realisation crossing his face. "Or did you -"

"I don't think you're being _creative_ enough," you say, and catch yourself grinning again as he leans forward in interest, as pleased to discover something _new_ as you always are.

A century isn't so _very_ long - not for you, and probably still less so for Annatar, who admits that he has a hard time working out how old he actually _is_ in any sort of way you can translate into sensible understanding. But - well, you _did_ miss him.

You're really very glad to have him back.

***

The hall is brightly lit during the interval, warm candle-light softening the harsher illumination of crystal-lamps; you and Lírë volunteer to go fetch drinks for the rest of your party.

You're enjoying the masque, as these things go - it's one of Alassië's, whom you like well enough even if you've never got to know her all that closely, a light work about a shipwrecked magician and his daughter; the sort of thing there's been a fashion for in the last few decades, all elaborate costumes and poetic flourish - there's some nice tricks with the staging that have you pausing to work out the mechanisms behind the scenes.

"I'm not sure it all makes _sense_ , though," Lírë says, trying to balance another cut-crystal wineglass in her hands; you reach over and take it from her just as it starts to slide, adding it to your own stock. "I mean, the whole plot depends on the main character keeping his daughter totally ignorant, for a start - "

"I don't think the plot's really the point," you suggest. "I thought the choreography was rather good, in that third scene - "

"Oh, well," Lírë says, with the faintly disdainful air of someone for whom the plot is _always_ the point; you catch yourself in a smile. "I suppose it was alright, if you like that sort of thing. Hang on, let me get a tray, this isn't working."

You glance up as she turns away, catching Annatar's eye across the room for a moment; he flashes you a smile before turning back to his conversation with Ólneth, starting to sketch out a diagram with his hands in the air.

"Are you two back to being inseparable, then?" Lírë asks, following your gaze as she turns back to you; the candlelight draws out auburn notes from her dark hair, pinned up with small silver-and-lapis flowers. "I'm glad you've managed to sort whatever-it-was out; I know you didn't like to admit it, but it seemed to upset you at the time."

"Honestly," you say, "I don't think it was anything much in the first place. You know how these arguments can just get blown out of proportion sometimes."

"Only," says Lírë, a frown creasing between her eyebrows, "I did get the impression it was fairly serious, back then. But - I'm sorry, I'm doing this all wrong; I only meant to say that I was pleased you seem happier now, Tyelpe."

"Don't worry about it," you say easily, and smile at her again. "Thanks, Lírë."

You help Lírë hand round drinks, then slide back into your seat next to Annatar, your arm brushing against his as you sit down. You really _can't_ remember what that last fight with him was about; it seems - hard to imagine, now you think about it, that you could have fallen out with him badly enough for Annatar to actually leave the city.

You - can remember that you _did_ fight, and now that Lírë's mentioned it, you think you _were_ fairly angry at the time -

You lean in to join Annatar's conversation with Ólneth, catching welcoming looks from both of them. It _can't_ have been anything too serious, you tell yourself again; there's no reason to start dragging it all back up now.

***

You still find yourself - thinking about it, though.

"So what _were_ you doing for the past hundred years?" you ask Annatar, a little sleepily, reaching out to stroke a hand lazily through his hair; it spills like silk through your fingers, waist-length strands glinting honey-bronze-gold in the candlelight. It's long after midnight, shutters closed and curtains drawn, but your rooms are warmly lit, enough for you to see Annatar's smile as he catches your hand in his own, raising it to his mouth to press a kiss against your palm. "I hope it was important, if it was worth leaving for."

"You're not going to let that go, are you?" Annatar says contemplatively. You watch as he props himself up on one elbow, turning your hand to rub his cheek against it for a moment, eyes briefly closing in catlike pleasure. "Honestly, Tyelpe, you can be difficult enough sometimes for any three ordinary people. It wasn't important, and it really doesn't matter any more."

He's right, of course: it wasn't important. You don't know why you brought it up in the first place.

You slide in closer towards him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. "What _were_ you up to, though?" you ask, smiling at him. "I'm just curious, that's all. Some of it must have been interesting."

"Moderately, I suppose," Annatar says, giving you an affectionate look; he lets go of your hand, reaching out in turn to twine a lock of your own hair through his fingers, before tucking it behind your ear, his touch lingering. "I headed out towards the East, for the most part. The mortals there need help as well, you know; there was a great deal someone of my abilities could do for them."

"I admit I have a hard time imagining _you_ teaching mortal hunters how to smelt iron," you say, raising an eyebrow and watching the corners of Annatar's mouth curve upwards as he returns your smile.

You _are_ a little dubious, though. It would be a waste to ask Annatar to teach anyone other than the more advanced students, of course, but - well. There's essentially just a minimum number of mistakes everyone has to make when they're first starting out, you've been there yourself; but apparently Maiar get to skip that stage or something, and you've had to have a word with him in the past about getting _too_ sarcastic with the apprentices.

"I can be patient when I _need_ to," Annatar says. "And it's not as if that's the only thing I did with my time."

He leans in to kiss you, and you allow yourself to be distracted, drawing him in closer with a hand against his back as he presses you down against the mattress. You run your fingers down from his shoulders along the length of his spine, lightly pressing your nails in to feel his reaction; as he catches your lower lip with his teeth in retaliation, making you shiver, and -

You really have _much_ better things to be thinking about right now, anyway. Interrogating Annatar can definitely wait.

***

You turn over your pen in your hand, leaning your elbow on the desk and running a hand through your hair as you think about how to phrase your letter to Gil-galad. You get along with him well enough as a _person_ , but - the understanding has always been, more or less, that as High King of the Noldor, you won't embarrass him by refusing any of his commands as long as he doesn't actually give you any.

It works out better than that might suggest. It's a long time since the War of Wrath; the days when the Noldor _needed_ a centralised military command are over a thousand years past, and Eregion and Lindon are far enough away from each other that direct oversight from Gil-galad would be impractical in any case. The whole extent of your correspondence with him normally comes to some amicable if tedious discussions of customs and road maintenance; it's only really in the last few decades that -

"Something wrong?" Annatar asks sympathetically, looking up from the densely-worded scroll he's been reading as he lounges on the couch across the room. Annatar's own apartments are apparently still being aired out and rearranged to his satisfaction; in the meantime, he seems to have decided to set himself up in your study while he works through everything the Gwaith-i-Mírdain have published in his absence.

You can't say you especially mind. It's been _fun_ , having the chance to talk to him about everyone's ideas as he catches up; there are comments you've been saving up for _years_.

"Not _exactly_ ," you say, with a shrug of your shoulders. "I'm trying to write to the High King, and - well, you know we're _effectively_ independent over here, but I'd really rather _not_ actually fall out with him - "

"I'm not sure what's been happening between you," says Annatar, tilting his head to one side as he gives you a considering look, "but it sounds like there _must_ be a problem, if you're putting it like that. What's going on?"

"You know he wasn't convinced the Rings were a good idea in the first place," you say, and Annatar nods, leaning back against the couch and putting the scroll to one side as he gives you his full attention. "It's - I don't fully understand his reasons, to be honest, but he's been even _less_ happy about the Three; he seems to think they could be _dangerous_ , somehow."

You don't see how the power to heal the world and make it more beautiful is something _anyone_ could object to, not if they _understood_ what the Three could be used to do. You're sure Gil-galad would come round in principle, at least, if you could just manage to get that _through_ to him.

"That - sounds misguided, yes," says Annatar, looking thoughtful. "Alright, here's a suggestion." He gives you a quick half-smile. "Why not gift him one of the Three for himself? Surely he'd lose his objections fairly quickly if he understood them properly, and I'm certain he'd be _capable_ of using Narya well."

You - blink for a moment.

"I didn't think you _liked_ Gil-galad," you find yourself saying, out of the several responses that come immediately to mind. Now that you start to consider it, though -

"It was rather more that _he_ didn't like _me_ ," Annatar says, with a faint air of injury. "I certainly agree that it showed poor judgement on his part, but - well, not even I'm _always_ right about _everything_ ; and I can accept that he does have _some_ uses of his own."

"Did you just _admit_ that you're wrong sometimes?" you say. "I should have arranged for witnesses. But - " You hesitate. "Yes. Thank you, Annatar. That's a _good_ idea; I'll have to think about it, but - that might really _work_."

It's not only Eregion that you want to help, after all; having all of the Rings of Power _here_ isn't realistically using them to their full potential at all. The more you consider it, the more you really _like_ Annatar's suggestion.

"I do _try_ to be helpful," Annatar says, smiling at you again. "Let me know if there's anything else you want advice on, Tyelpe; you know I enjoy this sort of thing."

"If anything, I think you enjoy yourself far too much," you say, propping your chin in your hand and smiling at him, and Annatar laughs at you, bright and affectionate and not the least bit displeased.

***

"Is that new?" you say, reaching out to catch Annatar's hand in yours. "What does it do, exactly?"

Annatar obligingly lets you turn his hand over, studying the bright golden ring on his index finger; you can't read the inscription, tengwar forming words that seem strange and harsh when you attempt to sound them out in your mind, but - from the shiver of _power_ that runs through you when you try to make them out, it's clearly a Work of some sort.

You've spent most of the day at the forge, falling easily into your old back-and-forth of ideas and discussion, but this is the first time you've noticed the ring. It's a little surprising you didn't see it sooner, actually, since even Annatar normally takes off his jewellery before undertaking any smithing-work - the fact that Annatar will happily test the temperature of molten metal by sticking his fingers into it not in fact making it a _better_ idea for him to wear anything on his hands.

You're still wearing Vilya, of course. It would take more than the heat of an ordinary forge to affect one of the Rings that you made; in the same way, you could guess that whatever Annatar was wearing had to be more than it appeared.

"Do you like it?" Annatar asks. "I suppose it didn't turn out quite as ornamental as your Three, but I admit I'm still rather pleased with it."

"It _does_ look - elegant," you say, and you mean it; for all that it's a plain design - surprisingly plain, for Annatar - there's a perfection of symmetry about it that draws the eye, and the calligraphy of the inscription has all the best of Annatar's precise sense of aesthetics. "What does the wording say? Is that in - Valarin?"

"A related language, I suppose," Annatar says. He smiles, looking at his hand in yours, a look of warm satisfaction passing over his face; lashes lowering as he gazes downwards. "I'm afraid the Ring itself doesn't do anything very interesting, though; it's mostly just a sort of - focusing device, to enhance my own abilities, rather than an independent Work of Power."

You can hear the evasion. Annatar has always been rather hazy on exactly what his abilities as a Maia _are_ , never mind their relative degree. It's not as if it's been all that relevant, most of the time - it was always his _knowledge_ that interested you, not whatever capabilities he might have as one of the Ainur - but over the centuries you've known him, you've gradually been revising your original estimate of his personal power further and further upwards. The idea of an _enhancement_ of that strikes you as being much less ordinary than Annatar would clearly like to make it sound.

You decide to let it go, for now, though. Whatever Annatar doesn't want to tell you about himself and his past is an old argument, and one you're both tired of, in different ways; you can wait until he's been back at least a little longer before dredging it up again in the present.

"You can tell me about it some other time, then," you say, and Annatar smiles again, glancing back up at you, his hand still warm in your own.

"I _will_ tell you, Tyelpe," he says, his voice sincere. "There are some other things I need to manage first, though."

"I'm starting to think," you say, with deliberate lightness, "that you only like to pretend to be enigmatic, and actually all your secrets are just an attempt to cover for the fact that you led a much less interesting life before coming here."

"I don't know about _that_ ," says Annatar; "it _did_ have its moments," and you can't help smiling back at the fond look he gives you, even as amusement glitters in his eyes.

***

You find yourself lingering after the council meeting, leaning over the maps still spread out on the table, accompanied by record-books and bound folios of correspondence.

There's - something you don't entirely like, about the way relations with Númenor are going; you can't seem to quite pin the thought down, but there's an insistent feeling of something _not right_ -

"Anything I can help with?" Annatar asks, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes casually sweeping over the scene. You hadn't noticed him arrive; the light from the wide windows of the meeting-room falls across his face, illuminating his curious glance.

"I - don't know," you say. "This should all be fairly routine, to be honest; we're already shipping timber and refined metals down the river to Vinyalondë, so there's no reason not to encourage more trade." Every reason to do so, in fact; your councillors had been delighted at the prospect. "I can't help feeling that there's _something_ wrong; I just can't work out _why_."

"Númenor wants _more_ timber?" Annatar asks, raising an eyebrow. "The whole Enedwaith's going to end up deforested, at this rate; you'd think they'd learn to manage their existing resources better."

"It's a long way off _that_ happening, Annatar," you point out, frowning slightly as you turn to face him.

"Are you sure?" Annatar asks, looking skeptical. "The problem is that mortals just don't have the same _perspective_ as you or I do, Tyelpe; as long as something benefits them _now_ , they don't stop to think about what might happen a few centuries down the line. You ought to step in and explain things to them while you still can, before it _does_ become an issue - and it will, at this rate."

You - agree. Or - you can't seem to decide. You feel as if there's something not quite _right_ here, worse than before, but you still can't seem to track down your own reasoning.

"I don't see any reason for Tar-Telperiën to take advice from _me_ ," you point out, but it's a weak argument, and you know it as soon as you say it.

"I'm sure you can find some for her," Annatar says easily. He steps forward, crossing the few paces between you, and takes your hand in his, clasping your fingers together; you can feel the warmth of his skin against your own. "You have to be careful with Númenor, Tyelpe. You and I stayed in Middle-earth because we _liked_ it here; we _cared_ about the world, and it's up to us to make it better. But the only reason the Númenóreans still bother with Middle-earth at all is because the Valar wouldn't _let_ them settle in Aman. If you give them everything they want, they'll only keep asking for more."

You probably _do_ need to step in with Númenor, you find yourself thinking. You've been leaving relations with them altogether too much up to Gil-galad.

"Alright," you say, thoughtfully. "I'll bring it up at the next council meeting. Thanks, Annatar."

"Any time," Annatar says easily, and you smile at him, stroking your thumb across the back of his hand and watching him give you a pleased look from under his lashes.

You're sure that's what you were half-considering yourself, beforehand, anyway. There's no reason _not_ to follow Annatar's advice, when everything he's saying makes so much _sense_.

***

After dinner, you spread out the design documentation for Narya and Nenya and Vilya over the table in your study, and watch Annatar's eyes gleam as he looks through the papers, a smile forming on his lips; he glances up at you, and you give him a sharp grin of your own, watching his expression with pleasure.

You always enjoy managing to genuinely _impress_ Annatar - it's not as if you don't _know_ the quality of your own creations, but it really feels like the reaction _means_ something coming from him; you have to actually _work_ to get it.

"This is _excellent_ , Tyelpe," Annatar says at last, still scanning over the blueprints. "The _connections_ between each design, as well - they all reinforce each other, don't they?" He glances up at you again, and gives you a look of pure admiration, without, for once, any trace of challenge or teasing; it leaves you smiling helplessly back.

"Yes, exactly," you say easily, watching his face as he turns back to the papers, fascinated and intent. "The more you create, the more difficult it becomes, of course, since the complexity increases each time. The mathematics involved aren't exactly trivial."

"Yes, I can see that," Annatar says, his gaze running down a page of equations, spell-notation set out in numbers and symbols. "It does make the whole thing harder to manage, but I'm sure it can be worked out. The relationship between each bearer ought to be considered, too - "

You - hesitate. That's - it makes you think of _something_ -

"But _that_ part's _inherent in the design_ ," Annatar says, sounding a little surprised as he notices your expression, raising his head so that his eyes meet yours; he watches you carefully. "I'm not pointing out anything new by saying _that_ , Tyelpe - "

It's the _connections_ he keeps focusing on, the way the Rings and their bearers all work together -

There's something else that _isn't right_.

The situation suddenly comes together in your head, intuition snapping together a series of half-formed thoughts and unconsciously-noticed facts; you reach almost without thinking for Vilya on your hand, about to take it off before you can -

Your hands are held firmly within Annatar's, his grasp steady and warm around your fingers, holding them still.

He moved so _fast_ , you find yourself thinking inanely. He wasn't even standing next to you, before.

"I'm sorry, Tyelpe," Annatar says, a look of faint regret showing in his eyes. "You weren't _supposed_ to notice anything wrong."

***

"I'll shout," you say, surprising yourself with how calm you sound. You're - not sure who might be around; the way the walls of your study, lined with tapestries and racks of scrolls and codices, block out sound is normally _comforting_ -

You try experimentally to tug your hands away from Annatar's, stepping back, but you might as well have trapped your hands inside a statue's. It's not painful, but there's absolutely no motion there at all, even when you throw your weight against his grasp.

You - forget how _strong_ Annatar is, most of the time.

"You won't shout," Annatar says, his eyes still tracking yours; still with that look of distant, polite regret written across his features. "I wouldn't let anyone else get drawn in, anyway, Tyelpe; but it would really be best if you didn't make me intervene further than I have to."

You won't call for help.

It feels - _worse_ , now that you've finally noticed what's happening, thought and not-thought sliding together and splintering on each other inside your head, a profound sensation of _wrongness_ -

"How are you _doing_ that?" you ask, your voice tight. Standing so close to him feels - more intimate than you want to be, right now, but you don't have any choice. "There's nothing in the Rings I made that should let you do something like - like _this_ \- "

 _How can you be doing this to me_ , you want to say, but -

"I lied to you," Annatar says calmly. "The Ring I made was to control the others, the ones _you_ created as much as the ones I helped you make. _Ash nazg durbatulûk_ \- you probably know what that means, Tyelpe, now I'm saying it; you've heard that phrase once before, you just don't remember. I made sure you wouldn't."

The word echo through you, making you shiver. _One Ring to rule them all_ -

An awful cold suspicion is forming inside you, as you look at Annatar; but you still - he _can't_ -

You look at him, your hands still held in his; and - you can't stop yourself from seeing him in the same way you always have; you meet his eyes and he's still _yours_ , the same person you've known so long and liked so well, still _Annatar_ , charming and clever and not the least bit _nice_ or _kind_ -

Nothing's changed; not _really_. Only you don't _want_ to think that he could - that he could _be_ -

"Annatar, _what did we fight about_?" you ask, helplessly, hearing the plaintive note in your own voice. "Did I - was there something I _found out_ \- "

And - you see something break past Annatar's composure, at that, pain and guilt and regret flickering across his face almost too fast to read; his hands tightening their grasp upon yours, not _quite_ hard enough to be painful -

"I _was_ going to tell you," Annatar says, his gaze insistent, now, as it meets yours; you can see his pupils wide and dark, set within the deep gold of the iris. "I _will_ still tell you everything, Tyelpe, eventually, I promise. This is - it's my fault, I know that."

"So _tell me now_ ," you say, "There's no _eventually_ , Annatar, you have to _stop this_ , you _can't do this to people_ , it's not - it's not - "

You hesitate, angry and grieving and - _betrayed_ , not just because - it's not _just_ that -

 _You didn't trust me_ , you can't help thinking. _You're the one who still can't trust me, even now_ -

"Do you know how _difficult_ you are, Tyelpe?" Annatar says. He - half-smiles, looking pained. You can see his hair spilling down around his shoulders and into his face; he shakes it aside with an impatient twitch of movement, his hands still steady.

"Even with the Ring, it was so _hard_ to get _you_ to do anything, especially without you realising - you really are extraordinary, you know.

"I'll do a better job, this time, in any case. There's nothing you'll have to worry about; if I hadn't made a mistake somewhere, there wouldn't have been anything for you to get upset about in the first place. I never meant for _you_ to get hurt."

" _Annatar_ \- " you say, trying to think past the fear rising up inside you -

"It will all be alright, Tyelpe," Annatar says, smiling at you again, trying to look - reassuring, now. "I'll fix _everything_. You won't have to remember this. Nothing will ever have gone wrong at all."

***

You wake up slowly, morning light already pouring in through the open windows only a little after dawn, the day still pale and cool, grey-blue sky delicately touched with pink on the horizon.

You're lying on the couch in your study, you realise, with your head in Annatar's lap, one arm sprawled out across his legs; you can feel him carding his fingers through your hair as you pull yourself back towards consciousness, the touch gentle and soothing.

You - must have fallen asleep working, you suppose. It's not the first time, although it's unusual for Annatar to stay with you like this; it's not as if he has to sleep, himself.

"Nnnh," you say, unintelligibly, rubbing your eyes and levering yourself awkwardly up to sitting. You feel - tired and headachey, still, but it's already fading as you wake up further.

"Good morning, Tyelpe," Annatar says, giving you a considering look. He reaches out to stroke a hand through your hair again, smoothing the unsettled waves back into place; you tilt your head into the touch. "How are you feeling?"

"Morning," you say, and cover a yawn. "Fine, I suppose. Did you stay here all night for me?"

You feel - certain, for once, that everything's alright; it's an improvement on the _unsettled_ feeling you remember having in the past few days, that's evaporating now even as you try to recall it, like mist fading in the sun. You rearrange yourself to curl up closer to Annatar, and lean your head against his shoulder, enjoying the warmth that works its way through the silk of his robes, a pleasant contrast to the cool air.

"I don't mind," Annatar says; and you catch him giving you one of his rare looks of pure contentment, warmth and affection and satisfaction all mingled together, as he glances down at you, a smile curving its way across his lips.

"I _do_ like you, Tyelpe. Let me take care of you a little, now and then; you _can_ trust me, you know."

"Why wouldn't I?" you say, still half-asleep, and Annatar smiles at you again, pleased, the single ring on his hand glinting golden in the sunlight as he reaches out to twine his fingers with yours.

**Author's Note:**

> Lovely illustration of the final scene by corinthian-13 [here](http://simaethae.tumblr.com/post/158505738022/still-experimenting-light-and-shadow-with)!


End file.
